


take off my flesh and sit in my bones

by Signe (oxoniensis)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/M, Genderfuck, Underage Character, Watersports, Winsister, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-13
Updated: 2010-09-13
Packaged: 2017-10-11 18:50:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/115759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oxoniensis/pseuds/Signe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tiny breasts, like sandcastles washed over by the tide, tan soft and warm like sand;  body still bones and promise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	take off my flesh and sit in my bones

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to vinylroad for the super-fast beta. Originally posted January 2008. Can also be read on livejournal, [here](http://oxoniensis.livejournal.com/344358.html).

_Heat, ma'am! It was so dreadful here that I found there was nothing left for it but to take off my flesh and sit in my bones._   
\-- Sydney Smith, in Lady Holland, Memoir

Tiny breasts, like sandcastles washed over by the tide, tan soft and warm like sand; body still bones and promise. Her shorts are scruffy, ragged edges soft from washing. Her hair straggles down her back, scrapped carelessly off her face and tucked behind her ears, salt soaked and damp, bleached from the end of a summer's neglect. She turns cartwheels on the sand, just because she can. Three, and then she falls, ends up on her ass on wet sand.

Sam thinks she's beautiful. Everyone else says she _will_ be, when she grows into herself, but he knows she's beautiful now. She makes him feel awkward, all too-long limbs and bony feet.

"Put your fucking top on," Sam says. He doesn't want to keep looking at her. "It's getting late, we need to get back."

"Dad won't like you swearing at me," she says, sharp and vicious, though he knows she won't tell on him.

"Dad wouldn't like you running around half naked," he retorts.

"Ain't no one here to see." She shrugs. "Except you."

She has this little half smile, hint of a promise of something more in it. Sam's seen her throw it at the boys at school, the older boys that hang around after school, leaning sullen against their cars, waiting.

She smiles it now, at him, and Sam feels his skin flush. She hooks her thumbs in the crooked waistband of her shorts, and tilts her hips. Hooker pose, and the rush of the sea must cover the sound of Sam swallowing.

"Just one more hour," she says, and she's hidden the sharpness, let the soft sweetness mask it and work on Sam.

He needs to go home now, homework waiting, study tempting him, a cool shower to soothe the heat of the sun on his shoulders. And he needs to pee too, desperately – they've been gulping down water all day, keeping the South Carolina heat bearable.

"Half an hour," he suggests, and she smiles more. Knows she's won.

"An hour it is," she says, and he winces at the thought of holding his bladder another hour, more by the time they get home.

She pulls off her shorts, and he screeches at her, "Dee, what the fuck?" She turns and laughs and she's only wearing a tiny thong, dusky brown pubes peeking out of the edges. She looks down and shrugs, pulling it off as simply as though it's nothing, not worth keeping on.

White vee on her ass, contrast to the tan of her breasts, and he wonders if it would taste different. Hates himself for how easily these thoughts pop into his head.

He's stirring, between his legs, uncomfortable and shifting, hard to hide in swim shorts. And he's not sure if the heat in his belly is more from the fullness of his bladder or something else.

She runs into the sea, skinny legs jumping over waves. She stops and turns. "Come in," she shouts.

He can't. He needs to pee too bad, but he can't pee in the sea – she'll know, somehow, he's sure she will. She'll see it and tease him, and he can't take it.

"No," he says, and stumbles back a few steps, up onto drier sand, further from the whoosh and swoop of the ocean.

"What is it?" she asks, quieter, walking back up the beach like there's some cord between them, won't let them move too far apart.

"Nothing," Sam says, though he knows Dee won't leave it at that.

"Fuck nothing. Just tell me." She's up close now, salt water streaming off her skinny body, and he gulps, weak.

"I need to take a piss," he admits.

"So? What's stopping you?" She sounds genuinely puzzled.

He doesn't look at her. "I can't go here."

"Why not? Everybody else pisses in the sea."

"I just can't," he snaps, angry with her for not just letting this go. He doesn't even know why now, why it's such a huge thing, why he can't just head up into the dunes and find a hidden spot. She'd _know_ , though, that's at the center of it. She's always known everything about him, everything he's done, brought him up practically, and now he needs her _not_ to know everything any more. Not to know what's in his mind, what his body does and wants every moment of the day.

"It's easy," she says, and he envies her simple logic. "You just have to relax, and it'll come."

He feels anything but relaxed. "It's not that—"

And she's squatting in the sand, right in front of him, and there's a trail of pee hitting the sand, leaving a steaming dent. "See, it's easy."

He shakes his head and looks away, looks off to the side and tries not to hear the sound of it streaming onto the sand, the sound of the waves hitting the shore. Squeezes his legs together tighter, but it's not helping.

Dee stands up, and he wishes he was taller. He's growing fast, overtaking her, but she can still look him in the eye. She sees too much.

"Do you need to come first?" she asks.

"Dee, fuck, you can't ask stuff like that?" he squawks, his voice breaking halfway through.

For once, she doesn't tease him about his voice. Teases him a different way, because she's in his space now, soft belly rubbing up against his dick, and even through his shorts she must feel it, feel it bobbing, half hard. He's miserable, embarrassed, but she just pushes her hand between them and pulls his dick out. Pushes his shorts down with her other hand, and he kicks them aside without thinking. Too aware of how bone-naked he is, how exposed.

Her hand on his dick, and she's not doing anything, just gripping it loosely.

She leans in even closer and whispers in his ear. "Just relax," she says. "I know you can, Sammy."

And her voice, familiar, soothes him. His muscles relax, and his dick too, softens, despite her touch, and the ache of his bladder is rushing through him and the trickle of piss is slipping through her fingers, onto her belly, streaming down her, darkening the hair over her pussy. And he leans his forehead on her head and watches it all rush out of him, and "Dee," he says, "Dee," and she says, "Shh, I've got you, Sammy."

She doesn't let go, even after his bladder's empty, holds on and rubs the head of his soft little prick with wet fingers, salt and piss, and he can't help it. He can't help it if he reaches down between her legs, finds the wet slit of her cunt, matches the way she's moving on him. Slides his fingers inside her, and she makes a little noise, assent, and the angle's all wrong, difficult, but it maybe that's fitting. Nothing's ever easy between them these days.

One hand on his dick, and he can't stop it swelling in her grip, even though it's not enough, not tight enough, and he thinks maybe she's not done this as often as she'd like him to think. There's something in him that's pleased about that. He's selfish.

He tries to tell her, _tighter_ , but the words don't come out right, just a groan into the tangle of her hair, so he pushes her hands aside, pushes into the vee of her groin, ruts against her there. Not _in_ her, not that, just up against her, and she gets it, puts her hands on his ass and pulls him in and that's all it takes. Feels his dick shudder against her damp skin and shoots his load against her leg.

She wipes the trails of come off her legs with one hand, and puts the other between her legs, takes over where he left off. He thinks he should help, but he's shaking, so he watches her hand move in and out until she lets out a little sound, relief and pleasure. He looks her in the face and there's a smile there like the curled burnt edge of a piece of paper, so fragile the wind could whip it away, and he's never seen her look like this before.

"S'okay, Dee, I've got you," he says, and holds her, head on his shoulder, roles reversed. Just a moment, that's all she stays still before she's dragging him to the water, and this time he lets her. Runs in fast, and the water races up to meet them, scours them clean.

After, back on the beach, drying off on coarse towels, he kisses her. He licks his lips, salty, and presses them against hers. Just once, almost chaste.


End file.
